


One, Two, Three ... You Gave Me a Key

by AetherSeer



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M, Multi, Pittsburgh Penguins, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Washington Capitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-05-30 00:03:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15084656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherSeer/pseuds/AetherSeer
Summary: Alex has a key—has had a key for years—and can be heard singing loudly off-key along with the radio the minute Sid steps through the door. That’s a bit of a relief, to be honest. These meetups are easier when both Alex and Geno are in the mood.





	One, Two, Three ... You Gave Me a Key

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neveranygoodupthere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveranygoodupthere/gifts).



> This piece is part of the Poly Hockey Exchange 2018, written for neveranygoodupthere. I hope you enjoy it.

The Caps roll into town on a rainy Tuesday in the middle of October, when the weather in Pittsburgh is miserable and gray. And it doesn’t help that the game is an absolute shitshow, either. It seems like the entire team ends up in the box at some point or another—Sid himself gets caught on a hooking call against Bäckström—but the Pens scrape out a win at home.

Sid knows the drill by now; he looks forward to it. Geno’s always in a good mood after a win, riding high on adrenaline and hockey. By this point, the rookies and the new trades are used to Geno’s  _ everything _ hanging out and around the room. 

Sid doesn’t actually know if that’s a Russian thing—Geno’s not the only guy lacking body shyness—or just a Geno thing. Sid  _ does _ know that the heated gaze raking over his own sweaty body is a Geno thing, although he usually can catch at least one or two admiring glances from other teammates if he looks hard enough. He doesn’t need to look; Geno’s blatant appreciation is  _ more  _ than enough for Sid’s self-esteem.

Geno’s already dressed when Sid’s done. But Geno ducked media—again—and Sid’s too polite to turn it down. Interviews are a part of the captaincy. Unfortunately. But, Sid has to admit, he’s gotten much better at being boring over the years. (And Geno’s perfected the art of escaping Jen.)

Sid takes his time in the showers, washing off the sweat of the game and scrubbing through his hair. It’s getting long again, curling at the ends. He’ll have to get it cut soon.

Geno frowns at his phone while Sid dresses, typing out a text. “G?”

“Da? Oh, nothing. Just Sasha being Sasha. Want to know if you not too tired from hooking his center.”

Sid rolls his eyes. It’s  _ hockey. _ And Bäckström had given as good as he’d gotten, shoving Sid into the corner more than once while battling for the puck.

“Is he meeting us?”

Geno taps out another text, shoving his phone into his pocket. “He already get permission from coach. Meet at my house. Know you prefer keep your house for just us.”

Sid makes a face. He doesn’t  _ mind _ people in his house; he just prefers not to meet Alex there. Geno doesn’t care nearly as much about that, and honestly, at this point it’s a routine.

 

Alex has a key—has had a key for years—and can be heard singing loudly off-key along with the radio the minute Sid steps through the door. That’s a bit of a relief, to be honest. These meetups are easier when both Alex and Geno are in the mood.

Sid’s not prepared for Alex to pin him against the wall as soon as Sid steps into the kitchen, though. Maybe he should’ve been, Sid thinks. Alex’s hands slide down Sid’s body, landing firmly at his hips. His beard tickles, but Sid’s a little preoccupied with his mouth.

Alex kisses like he plays hockey: wild, just teetering on the brink of something feral, and hungry. Sid’s not complaining in the slightest. Alex’s fingers dig into the indent of Sid’s waist, rucking up the fabric of Sid’s shirt to get at the skin beneath. His hands are warm and rough with callouses, skimming over Sid’s sides to tuck fingertips under Sid’s waistband.

Sid tilts his hips forward, an invitation Alex doesn’t miss. Thick, dexterous fingers unbutton and unzip Sid’s pants; the material slides down to catch on his hips. Alex cups the bulge of Sid’s cock and balls in his hand and just plays for a moment. Sid whines into the kiss, hips canting into Alex’s hold. “Please, c’mon!”

Sid’s nearly forgotten about Geno until Alex jolts forward with a sound that goes straight to Sid’s cock. Sid tips his head up—Alex nips at the underside of his jaw—and yes, Geno’s bracketing Alex from behind. Sid can’t see where Geno’s hands are, but he can make a guess based on the way Alex is shuddering between them.

Alex bites down  _ hard _ on Sid’s neck and Sid yelps. He gets his hands up and pushes, earning a fraction of an inch of space. “That hurt, fucker,” he spits out.

Alex manages a cocky grin before his eyes slide shut and his weight falls harder against the hand on Sid’s hip. Sid’s back hits the wall  _ again, _ Alex following the motion to just about flatten Sid beneath the weight of two hockey players. Alex tucks his nose against the thin skin of Sid’s throat. He murmurs something too low—and likely in Russian—for Sid to make out.

Sid squirms. Neither Alex nor Geno are small, and while he’s enjoying the sensation of Alex panting against his neck, he’s also not exactly what you’d call comfortable. “Can we move this to a bed? Or at least the couch?”

 

It’s Geno who tips Sid backwards onto Geno’s bed once they’re naked, pressing him down against messy sheets. It’s Geno’s lips sliding against Sid’s, a spit-slick joining that’s so familiar and so warm. Geno’s fingers grip Sid’s hips, pinning him at an angle that will soon become uncomfortable, but Sid’s too busy sliding his own hands down Geno’s long, lean back to grab a double handful of that high, round ass.

They’re hockey players. Being an ass man kind of comes with the territory. Sid gets in a good grope (or three) before he wiggles out from under Geno and fully onto the bed. Geno ends up leaning over the edge, his elbows on either side of Sid’s thighs. Geno gives Sid that slow, syrupy smile, eyes hooded, before tipping forward and licking a wet stripe up Sid’s dick.

Sid’s head thunks backward; Geno’s  _ good _ at this. He slits his eyes open when Geno sucks half of Sid’s cock into his mouth, meeting Alex’s gap-toothed grin with a groan. Alex holds up the lube that Geno keeps in his nightstand and makes a questioning face. Sid raises an eyebrow. It’s not like Alex doesn’t already know Geno’s preferences.

It’s not like Alex doesn’t know  _ Sid’s _ preferences, either.

Sid shuts his eyes, works a hand into Geno’s hair. He knows when Alex starts opening Geno up; he can tell by the stuttered pause of Geno’s mouth, by the intensity of his lips when he resumes sucking Sid off. Alex has started a murmured string of praise in Russian.

Alex has a tendency to drop the sappiest phrases in the midst of filthy words Sid knows from locker room talk. Geno had refused to translate Sid’s mangled rendition, but his ears had turned pink. And Geno doesn’t blush easily. So, yeah, after years of this, Sid can recognize enough of what Alex is saying to get the gist.

Alex marvels at Geno’s body, calls him “pretty” and “absolutely gorgeous,” asks Geno to open up for him. He presses kisses to the high swell of Geno’s ass; Geno will undoubtedly end up with some sort of beard burn. He must add another finger, and … yeah, he’s got three thick fingers pressing up and in when Sid opens his eyes for another look. Alex catches Sid’s eyes and his mouth quirks.

Sid gets his elbows under him, angling up to get a better view when Alex slips his fingers out and replaces them with his cock. Geno groans; the vibrations make Sid shudder. Geno drops his head to Sid’s thigh; Sid’s cock protests the change in temperature.

Sid intertwines his fingers with Geno’s as he rocks back into Alex’s thrusts. The bed creaks beneath the weight of three hockey players. Alex’s hands are bruising on Geno’s hips; Sid can see the red spreading where they dig into that soft flesh. If he listens close enough, and he does, he can hear the wet slap of Alex’s thighs against the underside of Geno’s ass.

Geno moans, mouthing at Sid’s thigh. If Sid lets him, Geno will leave a string of half-formed bites and bruises all along Sid’s inner thighs. Sid thinks he’ll let it go this time. His shorts will cover most of it, and it’s not like the team doesn’t know they’re fucking. (The Pens  _ don’t _ know about Alex, but that’s not something Sid’s willing to share with them, the nosy fuckers.)

Sid squeezes Geno’s hand; Geno bites him. Alex’s hips never still; he lays a long line of biting kisses up Geno’s spine and across his shoulders. Sid wiggles downward, forcing Geno to arch up. Alex must’ve hit that perfect angle right then, because Geno fucking  _ freezes,  _ and then whines high in his throat.

Sid gets his hand around Geno’s cock, neglected for so long, and it takes only a handful of strokes before Geno’s coming between them. Warmth drips over Sid’s fingers; Geno half-collapses onto Sid’s chest. Alex’s thrusts slow, gentle, but they don’t stop. Geno tucks his face against Sid’s chest, moans at the overstimulation. But he doesn’t ask for Alex to stop, just shivers and moans and mouths at Sid’s collarbone.

Alex comes, jostling Sid and Geno as he works in deep and shudders through his orgasm. Sid’s momentarily squashed flat beneath two Russians before Alex gets his breath back and rolls to the side to dispose of the condom. Geno sighs and gets his (wobbly) legs under him, standing with a wince.

Sid watches Geno watch him, still hard and wanting, wearing the proof of both Alex and Geno’s attention on his bared skin. Geno’s eyes are dark; Sid knows that familiar hunger. Sid tips his head to the side. Alex is watching him, wild blue eyes trained on Sid’s face—his lips, Sid thinks, or maybe his throat. Alex’s tongue traces the seam of his lips. “You gonna do anything?” Sid asks. Offers.

Geno sits on Sid’s other side, leans over to kiss him. So Sid can’t see Alex slide down and wrap a big hand around Sid’s cock, tonguing at the leaking head. Sid cries out, muffled by Geno’s lips. Alex is  _ good _ with his mouth, for all the sweet words he spills during sex. His tongue is  _ wicked, _ and Sid’s arousal ramps right back up from the calmer interlude of before.

Geno knows just the sensitive spots to hit, too, hands roaming. Sid gasps against his mouth, pleading, begging. Alex presses the pad of his finger against Sid’s perineum and rubs, and that’s it, Sid’s gone.

 

Sid comes back to Alex searching the room for his shirt. That’s … not exactly normal, but maybe the Caps have an early curfew this trip. Sid’s still coming down from orgasm, which hit him like a truck, but he’s with it enough to sit up and catch Alex’s wrist.

Sid pulls Alex down for a kiss. It’s routine, to say hello and goodbye, but … it’s not—Alex pulls away and he looks … devastated. Like the Pens had just knocked the Caps out of playoff contention, but somehow worse.

“Alex?” “Sasha—”

Sid and Geno start talking together. Alex bites his lip. “This is last time I can do this,” Alex says, gesturing at the room, the bed, the three of them.

Geno looks as confused as Sid feels. “Why?” Sid manages to get out. This was working—had been working for years now. And Alex hadn’t given any indication that it wasn’t, except—

There’d been an undertone to those sweet words in Russian. An undertone that Sid hadn’t realized for what it was—what it is—at the time. And Alex isn’t a Penguin. They see each other at a handful of games a year, maybe international competitions or All-Star weekends. And Sid and Geno have each other for nine months of the year. Alex … Alex is alone.

Alex is still quiet, watching them. The mood from before is shattered, now heavy with the weight of .. sorrow? Expectation? Geno says something in fast Russian; Alex answers quietly, but firmly. Sid recognizes the set of his shoulders, ready for a battle. Sid touches Geno’s hip. Geno breaks off to stare at Sid confusedly. “Sid?”

“Don’t make him say it, Geno,” Sid says quietly, watching Alex. Alex’s eyes dart over and around Geno and Sid, fingers fidgeting with his hem.

Alex pauses at the door. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but can’t seem to find the words. Sid … Sid doesn’t know what to say, either. He doesn’t know how to ease Alex’s hurt, or make this any easier. And Geno … Geno’s hovering, fingers flexing like he wants to grab Alex again and keep him from leaving.

But they can’t. It’s not fair to Alex; it’s not fair to any of them. Not with the distance, and the time, and the rivalry that both is and isn’t.

 

They don’t find Alex’s key to Geno’s house, left on the kitchen counter, until the morning.


End file.
